


The Dreaded Writer's Block

by Hikarilie



Category: Little Witch Academia
Genre: Writer's Block
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-27
Updated: 2018-09-27
Packaged: 2019-07-18 06:06:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16112405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hikarilie/pseuds/Hikarilie
Summary: Annabel has a writer's block and has to deal with it.Definitely not a self-insert meta fic.





	The Dreaded Writer's Block

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a talk between Sailor Portia and I. 
> 
> Please go check out her work if you haven't, she's amazing and cool yo
> 
> Enjoy, I wrote this in one hour without thinking much

Tap, tap, tap.

The rhythmic sound of the pen's tip tapping against the blank paper was somewhat melodic, but about as productive as watching paint dry. 

 _Night Fall_ , the longest-running literary work in the history of the witch world (and maybe the entire world), had for a week ceased the development of its 368th volume, _Of Wolf Mermaids and Space Mariners - Part IV_ , when the current holder of the title of Annabel Crème was surmounted by the greatest enemy of the written word.

The dreaded shadow that loomed over all writers. The drought of creative fountains. The silent assassin of muses. And, of course, the merciless killer of fanfictions all across the many worlds inhabiting Yggdrasil, father of orphaned works that'd never leave their cliffhangers nor would please expectant readers.

 _Writer's block_.

With a frustrated groan, the blonde girl crumpled up the piece of paper - blank, save for some splotches of ink that ceased to convey anything except perhaps the abstract feeling of frustration - and tossed it into a growing pile of unsuccessful attempts at developing Chapter 24, _Edgar and the Ship of Theseus_. 

Hopping from the chair, she paced the floor in circles that grew into oblongs, as though a moon orbiting a black hole of creative death that couldn't quite pull her in (Annabel wasn't exactly a physicist, leave her alone).

When the motion produced absolutely nothing but a crevasse in the lilac carpet of her office, the girl decided it was time to clear her head. Grabbing her phone and a pair of earbuds, she left the atelier of her craft, locking the door. A large poster for the release of her first volume as Annabel, _315 - The Gorge of Flummoxing_ , was proudly plastered against the rich mahogany.

She scoffed. What a good writer she was.

That was irony.

…

Ugh. She can't even properly convey the sentiment behind a sentence without writing it out. Her readers aren't idiots, for Jennifer's sake.

' _If anything,_ I _am one…_ '

 

* * *

  

The sun hung high in the sky, its warmth perfectly counterbalanced by an early spring breeze. The perfect kind of weather for the blonde author.

She slowly walked across the neighborhood, listening to her carefully curated list of songs for stabilizing (it was mostly anime OPs, but no one needed to know that, now, did they?). Occasionally, she would also resort to podcasts, another one of her guilty pleasures.

But the routine wasn't doing much to clear the large rock that had embedded itself in the nascent of the river of ideas. Indeed, the dreaded writer's block (roll credits!) permeated the once clear skies of her mind as though a tempest coming from the pits of Space Tartarus itself (volume 163 for the uninitiated). A gigantic contrast to the beautiful, clear world outside of her. If only she could siphon the majestic environment that embraced her from every side into the inner world where her stories usually thrived.

Alas - oh, alas! - t'wasn't happening.

She gave up on prancing aimlessly, sitting on a park bench to try and find another solution.

What did she need to defeat the dragon of wings made of mental noise? What Excalibur should she retrieve to slay this mythical beast and put an end to her existential misery? How shall she retrieve the magic blood in its blood to use as ink for-

"Good afternoon, little Miss!"

A smiling vendor had stopped before her, pushing a cart of assorted sweets. She wore a straw hat, a red vest and a stripped tie, making for a truly carnival-like appearance that Annabel deeply appreciated - if you are going to be cliché, might as well embrace it, she thought.

"Good afternoon."

The woman pulled up the brim of her hat and gazed to the space above the writer, smirking. "Why, seems like this cutie has a little rain cloud hanging above her head, am I right?"

Tsk. For a writer who valued subtlety as much as she did, Annabel had a hard time not wearing her heart on her sleeve, especially when she was feeling down on her spirits. "Maybe…" She looked away, her asocial tendencies quickly kicking in.

The vendor chuckled heartily. "Hey, it's fine! We all have days like these, yanno? What's dragging you down?"

Her eyes didn't leave the pigeon currently pecking a bag of dropped popcorn a few meters away, but she responded nonetheless. "I have to work on a thing, but…" Her hands clenched the fabric of her skirt nervously. "I'm having a really hard time just… _doing_ it." 

What a pathetic choice of words, where's the flair?

"I can get that," the vendor nodded as though some sage of unspoken wisdom. "But sometimes you just need to think about something else for a while! Because if you're not having fun, then even if you get something out, it's not gonna be that good, ya get me?"

"Well, I did leave home to walk and take my mind off. But, it hasn't worked so far."

The saleswoman tapped a finger against her cheek in thought. "How about if, instead of avoiding whatever it is you're doing-"

"Writing."

"Oh, a'ight! How about if, instead of avoiding writing, you write something else? Put those creative juices into something else, and soon enough, you'll be back on track to finish your first work."

It wasn't a bad idea. Annabel had been able to keep an almost nonstop flow with _Night Fall_ ever since she inherited the pen, but she had been experiencing burn-out as of lately. She had almost pawned it off to that Lotte girl without a second thought.

"Yeah… you might be right. I'll give it a try. Thank you." Annabel managed to smile slightly. Her secret identity of sorts hadn't allowed her to confide about her work in almost any capacity, making the job a very lonely one. "But, why are you being so kind to me?"

The woman smirked. "Kindness is what makes the world go round, missy!" She darted her eyes to both sides before leaning in closer to Annabel, speaking in a secretive tone, "Plus, customers are more likely to repeat if they like me, yanno?"

Both giggled. 

Annabel stood up from her bench and retrieved a pouch from the inside of the hoodie she wore. She procured a money bill and handed it to the saleswoman, pointing to a lemon tart in the cart.

The vendor took the bill and handed a pair of tarts to her, winking. "Is on the house, ya hear?"

Smiling, the writer nodded and started the trek back to her house.

 

* * *

 

Now seated again at her desk, a fresh sheet of paper in front of her, Annabel had to decide on what to write. She wanted to take a break from the convoluted universe of vampires, werewolves and unrequited love to write something else, but what? It had to be something that spoke out to her. To what she felt.

She tapped her pencil against the pencil for a couple of minutes, frustration slowly building up inside of her at the lack of ideas.

' _Why is writing so hard…?_ '

Then it hit her. An epiphany, a light cutting through the darkness of her inner tempest, as though the sun that broke through the bloody massacre of the Nocturnal War in volume 255.

She scribbled away at the paper, smiling. How long had it been since she allowed herself a story this simple? Something she could make as an oneshot, without being forced to carefully plan and edit as to create a flawless narrative that kept continuity, pace and foreshadowing?

 

_Click, click, click._

_The rhythmic sound of the fingertip clicking mindlessly at the same key on an empty document was somewhat melodic, but about as productive as scribbling mindlessly on a paper without producing any real words._

Sunlight's Shine _, one of the most beloved original serialized works in internet history, had for a week ceased the development of its 54th chapter, The Beautiful Boy Biking Downhill, when Clarice da Paz, known online as bright_lightsie, was surmounted by the greatest enemy of the written word…_

 

When she finished the short story, Annabel sighed contentedly. Her mind felt clearer. When had she last written for herself?

When she eventually returned to her usual work, upon which she'd write about Edgar retrieving the Excalibur with the help of a friendly, nameless Sage Elder God crossing the galaxy on a cosmic pony, she did it with a large smile and a creative furor she thought had been forever lost.

In the end, Annabel had never stopped being a good writer for her fans. She just forgot the important things an artist had to keep close to heart.

She munched on one of the lemon tarts. It was sweet like the kindness of others and reinvigorating like the act of treating yourself.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Writing should be fun, first and foremost. Please remember this, fellow writers. <3
> 
> I might delete this later, just... needed to get it out
> 
> yanno


End file.
